


Instinct

by MadnessIsScience



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Biohazard, Biohazard | Resident Evil References, Blood, Blood and Gore, Bloody, Choices, Death, F/M, Game: Resident Evil 7, Gamers, Gore, Guts - Freeform, Horror, Horror game, Injury, Killing, Murder, Play To Win, Reader Insert, Resident Evil - Freeform, Scary, Survival, Trapped, Trapped in Game, Violence, Violent, YouTube, YouTubers - Freeform, actually, bad at tags, game, gamer - Freeform, help me out, i swear this isn't terrible, in the game - Freeform, it might be, markiplier/reader - Freeform, markiplierxreader - Freeform, reader - Freeform, survive, you - Freeform, youtube gamer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22750873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadnessIsScience/pseuds/MadnessIsScience
Summary: You wake up alongside Mark, a man you must learn to trust despite the circumstances to keep yourself alive. This story will be written in the first perspective instead of the second as I find it easier to write, so, thanks for understanding. I hope you like. Feedback and constructive criticisms are welcome.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Reader, Mark Fischbach/You, Mark/Reader, Markiplier/Reader, mark/you
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy!

I wake with a sharp intake of breath. My eyes begin to water as the afternoon sun shines against them pouring dark spots and bright burns within my vision. I blink a few times to clear my sights before I finally can see where I’ve woken.

I’m sitting in the front seat of a car, my hands placed on my lap, and my head resting against the passenger-side window. It’s only now I register the rumble of the cars engine and the vibration of the glass pressed to my temple.

“Hey… are you awake?” a man's deep voice questions from my right.

I startle and whip around to find the voice’s source and am greeted by a man with a fluffy head of hair dyed deep-red, the roots a solid dark-black, brown eyes, tanned skin, and a smattering of stubble against his jaw, chin, and upper lip. He looks as worried and confused as I feel.

“Yeah, I… who are you? What am I doing here?” I ask gently. For all I know, I’ve been drugged and kidnapped. This man could intend to kill me. Upon thinking this, I press myself a little further against the passenger door and try the handle, though it doesn’t budge, even though the lock isn’t pressed down.

“Hey, it’s alright! I’m not going to hurt you, I swear! I don’t know where we are either… I just woke up as well,” he explains, both hands raised in surrender.

“What do you mean? You’re the one driving!”

His hands remain in the air as the car, surprisingly enough, continues to steer itself along the road I’ve awoken on.

“I know this all seems crazy… believe me, I know. I swear to you I have no idea what’s going on, but I need to ask you to remain calm and tell me the last thing you remember… can you do that for me? I promise you I’m just as confused as you are, and all I want is to figure out what the hell’s going on here.”

I take a deep breath and let my eyes dart around the car. The vehicle itself is still moving on its own as the man beside me has yet to place his hands on the wheel. The interior looks older, some of it polished wood, the car itself a lighter, tanned-cream. I close my eyes once again, inhale, hold said breath, open my eyes, and let it back out.

“Okay… Okay, uh… I remember… I-I was at home. I was at home and I was playing a game… it was… god, I can’t remember. It was... the second in the series... Oh! Outlast! I was playing Outlast two!” I reply giddily after pulling the memory to the forefront of my mind. I frown a few moments later though. “So how the hell am I here?”

“I have no clue. All I remember is that I was at home. I was messing with my computer, and then nothing. I woke up maybe a minute or two before you did. At first, I was worried I was dreaming, but I pinched myself, and am still here… so...”

I nod and then look out the windshield. There’s something eerily familiar about the scenery floating by, but I can’t put my finger on where I’ve seen it before.

The terrain looks almost swampy, everything wet and muddy, though there’s still rolling fields of dried grass and some fresher looking vegetation tossed here and there as well. There is a multiple-opening rivulet running alongside us, and the sun, which looks to be almost ready to begin setting, is reflecting off of said water brilliantly.

“This place seems almost…”

“Familiar?” the man beside me finishes in question.

“You think so, too?”

“Yeah. I didn’t pay much mind as to how familiar until you said something though. I swear it’s like I’ve either been here before or have seen it somewhere.”

“I wouldn’t have been here. I’ve been locked up in the city my whole life. I must have seen it somewhere, I just can’t think of where…” I add. He nods and continues to think.

I turn my attention from the scenic view outside of the car, to the compartments within. Perhaps there’s something stashed away in here that’ll give us an idea as to what’s going on. I’ve decided, with a slight feeling of trepidation, that I’ve no choice but to take this man’s word for now. As far as I know, we’re both in this with no idea as to why, and if I am, then the probability of he, too, being a victim to this is just as likely. After all, he seems to trust me, so I can at least repay him with trust in return.

I lift the centre console hatch to find nothing whatsoever, the compartment completely spotless as if it’s never been opened before, and honestly, perhaps it hasn’t. Who knows? I then move to the glove compartment.

I try and pry the cupboard open, but it seems to be locked, the small keyhole glinting in the ever-dimming light.

“Yeah, I tried all that as well… What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking? I’m Mark.”

“Y/N… Have you tried the radio?”

Mark looks a little sheepish as he moves his hand to flick through the nobs and dials before the two of us, and after pressing his fifth button, earns a flicker of light and the lull of a male’s voice in return.

“Hello! Welcome to the game!” the voice booms loudly.

I reach forward and attempt turning the volume down, but the nob does nothing.

“You’re probably confused, I’m sure! Don’t worry, you aren’t the first to be. Congratulations on figuring out the radio! Some before didn’t, and ended up dying right here in this car!” he shouts excitedly.

I pale at his words and hold my breath, my heart beating wildly as my fingers grip the fabric of my dark-wash, black jeans. People have died here? I look to Mark fearfully to find him watching me with just as much terror written within his eyes.

“Don’t worry! You won’t die here! No, you’ve figured out step on! Miss Y/L/N,” he continues.

My eyes widen further with the mention of my surname, my hands now quivering gently.

“Please reach into your left pocket! You’ll find something there for you! Have fun, kids! Oh, and Mr Fischbach! I’d recommend keeping your eyes on the road!”

Mark’s attention suddenly springs to the front instead of me, his body jolting as he quickly jumps to press the breaks, the car speedily hurtling towards a cluster of trees. He’s just quick enough it seems, because the car skids and slides, but avoids the trees just as we come to a complete stop.

I let out my withheld breath and then stumble to reach into my pocket to retrieve what I’d been told was there. I feel the metallic shiver of a key. I pull it out and insert it into the glove compartment, the handle pulling easily now, and the door opening to reveal a cluster of papers.

“Do you wanna read them? Or should I?” Mark asks, his voice low and worrisome. I look to him, his face still drowning in fear, and give him a soft, reassuring smile.

I take the papers out and hold them before myself, my fingers gingerly running over the inked words, my breath hitching once again upon reading the first line.

“What? What’s it say?”

I take a second to breathe, closing my eyes in the process, and upon calming myself down enough, continue to read it out loud for Mark to hear as well.

“Welcome, Y/N and Mark, to my absolute favourite game, Resident Evil Seven, Bio-hazard… You’ve been hand-selected by my small team of info-workers to take part in this challenge. My name is not important, but if you wish, you may call me The Game Master…” I huff and shake my head. “What is this? A fucking anime?” Mark laughs suddenly as I realise I’d spoken that part, too, aloud. I smile softly before continuing.

“You are the seventh team of two to be competing for the ultimate prize. The prize will be revealed later on. It is one you will find most amazing, and will likely do just about anything to receive.

“You will both play your parts throughout this game, and in doing so, if you survive, will continue to qualify for the aforementioned magnificent prize…

“Good luck, competitors. You’re going to need it. Oh, and I hope you remember how to play.”

The car remains silent as the two of us soak in all the information we’ve just been given. We’ve been kidnapped and are being forced to play out some sick role-playing bullshit for some unknown douche-bag who gets off on this shit! You’ve got to be joking!

I’m suddenly interrupted from my thoughts as my wrist begins to sting terribly. I gasp and clutch it within my other hand, my left wrist beginning to bleed as my skin breaks open, the crimson beading to the surface and drizzling down my forearm and onto my leg.

“What the…” Mark comments as I swipe away the blood, a number coming to be seen slashed against my flesh. “Fourteen?” he questions before he too is clasping his wrist, the same thing occurring, his number though reading thirteen instead.

“He said we’re the seventh group. I suppose these are our tags…” I comment. I run my finger over the number, my skin stinging with the contact causing me to flinch and pull my fingers away again. “Numbers thirteen and fourteen… he said others have died… do you think, you know, all of them did?”

Mark looks deep in thought for a moment before his eyes widen a little.

“What is it?”

“At the end of the letter, he said ‘I hope you remember how to play’… I know I’ve played this game before, but…” he whispers as he thinks onward.

“Oh my god… you’re right. I don’t remember a thing! There’s no way I could have forgotten! I loved this game! I played through it three times!”

“I liked it as well, but I’m drawing blanks here… It’s like my memory’s been wiped. How can that happen?”

“Hypnotically induced amnesia? Chemical altering? I mean, it could be anything! We’re sitting in a game! We’re the main fucking characters in someone’s sick, twisted, horror story fantasy! What the fuck, Mark?!”

I push the glove compartment closed roughly before punching the dash, ripping my door open, and angrily pulling myself from the car, slamming the door closed behind me. Once I’m out, I take a little time to try calming myself down. I place both palms on my thighs, lean forward, and try to coax the air into my lungs more smoothly. Just as I’m beginning to calm myself, however, I once again think about how someone seems to have invited themselves inside of my head and fucked with my memories, so I spin around and roughly kick the car letting out a frustrated yell.

“Who the fuck do you think you are!” I scream to no one at all, the seething words spitting from curled lips venomously. I feel tears of frustration building as well, but I don’t let them fall, I instead drag the back of my arm across my face to rid them and then begin pacing as attempt number two at calming down.

Once all of the anger has subsided, I’m left instead with the overwhelming fear and confusion of what we’re going to do. How are we going to get out of here? Where the hell even is here? People have died doing this… are we next?

I crumble to the ground instead of pacing as my legs are shaking just as harshly as my hands. My knees hit the ground first causing a wince, I then shift so I’m sitting against the forest-floor leaf-litter, me knees brought up to my chest and my arms folded on top of them. I let the first tear fall when I hear Mark’s door open from the opposite side of the car.

“Hey…” he calmly calls for my attention as he comes into view. “You okay?”

I look to the man incredulously before sighing and burying my face in my hands.

“No, Mark. I’m not okay… Why the fuck would I be okay? I just! I..! I’m sorry,” I take a breath and then face him, my eyes heavy with threatening salt. “This isn’t your fault, I’m sorry, I’m just… What do we do, Mark? What the hell are we supposed to do?”

Silence follows my question as another tear falls. Mark moves and sits in front of me, his legs crossed. He leans forward and places a comforting hand on one of my folded arms. He gives me a little smile and then looks down to his free hand, the arm with his number carved into it.

“We play the game… We’ve done it before, right? We can do it again. There’s two of us instead of one, that much I know from the game… We’ll be okay if we just keep calm and work through this, alright? The prize has to be going home, right? What else would we want out of this? We’re gonna need to learn to trust each other if we’re going to get this done though, so I need you to trust me on this, okay? We’re going to be fine.”

I look to Mark and then smile through the pain my heart is injecting into bones. I nod, wipe my eyes, stand, and then offer my hand to the artificially red-headed man. He takes it with a smile, and I haul him to his feet alongside me.

“Okay… I trust you We can do this, right?”

“Exactly. We can do this.”

God, I hope you’re right…


	2. Plans and Mini-Vans

“Okay,” I begin, my voice much more confident now than the angry growl and then apprehensive stutter it’d been just moments prior. “If we’re going to do this, then we’re going to have to do this right. We need to co-operate, communicate, plan thoroughly, stay alert, and above all else, refrain from taking any unnecessary risks. That’s always my biggest cause of death with video games.”

Mark nods along giving me his full and undivided attention which I appreciate immensely.

“As you said,” I continue, “trust is going to be one of the biggest, if not, most important implication here. Without trust, we won’t survive this. We need to know that we can trust one another to have our backs. I understand the apprehension with this one as we’ve both just been thrust into this with no prior knowledge of the other, so trust isn’t going to come immediately, but I’m willing to work on it as best I can if you can.”

I get a smile from Mark this time, his features fitting into the gesture nicely.

“I understand… You’ve… You’ve played a lot of horror games, haven’t you?”

“Many too many, but I loved them. There’s something about throwing yourself into that situation that’s so exhilarating and addictive. This is a little different seeing as, if I’m assuming right, we’re Hard Core Mode-ing this with our actual lives on the line but… we’re video gamers, right? We’ve got killer instincts for this sort of thing!”

Mark chuckles as he folds his arms over his chest.

“You do know your entire personality just did a complete one-eighty, right?” he laughs.

I grin and reach into the car, my hands still shaking as I go.

“Yeah, look, I’m terrified, Mark… But, you’re making an effort, so, so can I. I’m not going to have you drag my anxious-ass self around being the only one half-sane enough to get through this. I’m here too, which means there are two people to put the workload on.” From the car I take out the papers, the note still resting on top, and shift said note to the back of the few other pieces.

I turn to see the shy smile on Mark’s face, his eyes on the ground. I put my hand on his shoulder this time.

“We aren’t in this alone… and I’m sorry for freaking out before. I’m sure you understand… We’re going to be okay… I guess I just needed that little push of reassurance, so, thanks for that as well…” I smile back.

His eyes reach mine and his smile remains. I hand him the papers so he can look through them.

“Here, shuffle through these. I’m gonna take a look in the back of the car. See if I can find anything else.” He nods, and so I leave him to it.

I move around to the drivers side where Mark’s left his door open, reach in, and then pull the trunk lever. I hear the thunk of it unlocking, move back, close the door, and then move around once again towards the back of the car this time.

The trunk lid lifts easily, the paint somewhat spotted with small flecks of rust. Inside sits two identical, black backpacks, two flashlights, two prepaid burner phones, a few bottles of water, and a packet of crackers.

“Anything?” Mark questions as he approaches.

“Yeah, there’s heaps of stuff here… I’m glad I checked actually. Here.”

Mark watches as I methodically pack each of the bags divvying up the items equally, and pull both out, handing him one before slinging my own over my shoulder.

“I’m going to assume the phones are already set with whatever it is we’ll be needing them for, hang on,” I say as I flick mine open and slide through the contacts.

The phone is an old blackberry, the buttons familiar from somewhere from my teenage years. I had a pink one when I was a younger, partially because my mom thought it was the one I’d want, and partially because I couldn’t get my hands on the black one. I open the contacts tab finding a single number.

“Thirteen… What’s the bet this is you?” I ask, mostly towards myself, as I select the number and watch it ring.

Mark’s phone reacts after a couple of moments, the ringer just stock-standard tinkling, the number Fourteen displayed across the screen. I cancel the call from my end and slip the phone into the back pocket of my jeans.

“I’m guessing this is for if we get split up… let’s just hope that doesn’t happen, hey?” Mark says.

“My thoughts exactly,” I agree watching as mark slides his phone into his pocket as well. “What was on the papers?”

“Oh!” Mark calls after being reminded. He takes the rolled papers from his back pocket and flattened them out in front of us. “This one looks like an item list. You know, things that’ll be helpful to us. There are a few things like ammunition, chem fluid, herbs, psycho-stim-tablets, whatever those are, and a few other things. The other one is a copy of what was said over the radio, and the final one is a list of names… We're are at the bottom. I’m gonna go ahead and say this is the list of people who’ve tried this before us.”

I nod as Mark folds the papers back up and slips them into his bag.

“You ready then, Muscles?” I ask.

“Muscles?”

“You’re wearing a red muscle-t,” I roll my eyes. “It was just the first thing that came to mind.”

He laughs. “What, Mark not good enough for you?”

“It’s no fun! Come on! Let me cope here,” I laugh as we begin our trek through the bush-land area, a dirt path leading us through.

“Whatever,” he smiles, dragging out the ‘a’ as he goes, “Short Stuff.”

“Oh come on!” I shout playfully as I push his a little off track. “That was a low-blow!”

“Any blow I’m gonna throw at you are gonna be 'low'!”

“Ouch!” I giggle as we continue.

The forest is relatively silent except for the odd bird song now and again, but apart from that, the only real sound is our footsteps, the dirt and partial gravel shifting beneath us softly. The bushland isn’t all that thick, but still dense enough to obscure whatever is to be hiding at the end of this path, a design choice, I’m positive, that was chosen specifically for that reason.

I can hear the faint hum of water trickling a little ways off into the scrub as we move in further, the sun now dimmed much more dramatically than before, though still providing plenty of visibility.

“So, Mark,” I begin after a little while. “We’ve already decided that trusting one another is going to be a must out here, but I think to help us do so, getting to know each other would help big time, so… tell me something about yourself?”

Mark hums in acknowledgement as he brings his hand up to his hair and ruffles it a little, steering a few strands out of his eyes. “Sure, what do you wanna know?”

“I don’t know, just some basic stuff I guess. You play games, so… why not start there?”

“Okay, yeah. That’s a great idea. Uh, well, I’ll play just about anything, I guess, but not anything that’ll induce too much rage… I can’t go back to that place, Y/N,” he says in mock horror. I laugh. “I think the last game I played was a little something called Soma. Maybe you’ve heard of it! It wasn’t my first time playing it, but it was still just as fun as my first time through,” he informs.

“Soma, hey? I think I’ve seen it on the PlayStation Store. Maybe if we… when… ah, maybe when we get out of here, I’ll have to hit it up and give it a go! What’s it like?”

Mark goes on to tell me all about the game named Soma, his childlike excitement for the title shining through with his enthusiastic explanations and wild hand movements for emphasis. He explains how it’s kinda post-apocalyptic in a sense, just without the whole zombies thing, though he refused to tell me too much about the story itself in fear of spoiling his favourite parts.

After his explanation had ended and I’d given him praise on being so enthusiastic about the whole thing, which had him grinning, I went on to tell him all about one of my favourite games named RiME. This went back and forth until our path finally concludes, a large, dangerous-looking, metallic gate standing before and cutting us off from a large, old, chipped-white-paint, weatherboard house.

“Wow… are you experiencing the memory jolts as well? Or is this just me?” Mark asks after looking over the building and rubbing at his temples.

“Nope, I’m getting it as well… Nothing beats seeing things we’ve forgotten to jog the hippocampus, am I right?” I giggle gently. “Sometimes people with amnesia recall things after being subjected to them again, just like this I guess… and if I’m remembering this correctly now…” I push against the metal gates. “We aren’t getting through here!”

Mark nods and glances around the two of us.

“Wanna try the call button?” he suggests.

“Don’t think that does anything… Ah, here, we’ll just follow this part of the path. Hopefully, it’ll take us somewhere less… unwelcoming, which now I’ve said it out loud and given where we are and what we’re doing, seems entirely unlikely… Come on!”

The two of us walk away from the chained gate continuing along the track.

“So, you got any family back home? Live alone? What’s your deal?” Mark asks after a short few seconds.

“Family…” I trail. “Uh, hate to be the one to whip out the dark and decrepit backstories, but Nah, I’ve ah… I’ve been on my own for a little while. I mean, I’ve got friends! And Madison! But families something I’ve been without for as long as I can recall. Don’t pity me, I don’t mind… what about you?”

“I wasn’t going to pity you… I mean, I am sorry, but I won’t pity you. Umm, I live alone as well, in Los Angeles, with Chica, she’s my baby, and by 'baby', I mean pupper! My mom lives in Korea, I’ve got a brother called Thomas, and my dad died a little while back now. Same goes though, no pity,” he teases.

I chuckle and nod taking in his words until we both stumble upon a worn-looking, dust-accumulating, white, abandoned van littered with bits and pieces of tech equipment.

“Jeez… Who’d leave this stuff out here? Looks expensive. Look at that tripod,” mark speaks. I nod as we both move closer to get a better look.

I’m sifting through a heaped clump of wires when I hear Marks voice again.

“Please don’t be a dead body,” he repeats, “Please don’t be a dead body. Please don’t be a dead body…”

He pulls at the van's door, and to his obvious relief, there’s no one, or thing, dead inside and awaiting us. I hear a mumbled ‘huh,’ before he’s pulling away from the van.

“Hey, come look at this.”

I move over to stand at his side as he holds what looks to be a wad of papers, somewhat resembling a script.

“Sewer Gators,” he begins, “Episode seventeen. Project proposal – Sneak into Louisiana Ghost House…” he flips the booklet over, dark-scarlet letters spelling ‘join us’ smeared against the back. “I’m going to assume that’s cherry-red lipstick, and is most definitely not blood.”

“Afraid of a little blood, Mark?” I tease as I take the pages from him, look them over, and then toss them back into the van.

“I am when it’s speaking to me like that,” he defends.

“Here, let's follow this… it’s what every good actress does in a horror movie, right? Follow the very-obviously placed bright-orange extension lead?” I joke as I follow said cord towards the break in the barred fence.

“Accept her gift,” Mark reads the following letters on the fence aloud. “Who’s gift?”

“You really wanna find out?” I challenge.

“Nope! But if it’s gonna get us out of here, then…” he counters.

I nod and the two of us continue.

We creep through the fence and follow the vague path, flies swarming certain areas abundantly as we walk. I make a feeble effort to swat as many out of my face as I can, and Mark just follows closely behind in hopes I swat them all out of his path as well.

We turn two bends until I stop completely still in my tracks, Mark’s body colliding gently with mine calling him to attention.

“What are you-”

“Shh,” I hiss before ducking down into the long grass and pulling him down with me. “You see that?” I point in the direction I’m staring off into.

Just through the thicket both Mark and I watch as a figure dressed in plain, somewhat tattered, palled clothing walking off towards the right. He doesn’t seem to know we're here, and if he does, he’s yet to let on that he gives a damn.

“Who the actual fuck is that,” I whisper as he leaves our view.

“I don’t know, but I have a feeling that we’ll be finding out soon enough,” Mark answers as he stands, pulling me back up with him. “Come on, we’ll keep quiet. Follow me.”


	3. The Guest House

By the time we’ve rounded the corner the mysterious figure had turned before us, he’s vanished leaving mark and me on our own out in the trees once again. From the corner, we walk a little while more before suddenly a raven takes off out of nowhere scaring the hell out of me and forcing a shrill squeak from my throat. Mark seems to find this funny as he’s laughing up a storm from behind.

“Hey! Come on! Given the circumstances, I’m allowed to be a little on edge!” I protest in my defence. This only causes the man to laugh louder though. I stomp my foot like a child and turn back to where the bird flew from, another gasp leaving me as I notice why the Raven had been there, to begin with.

“What,” Mark breathes out between chuckles. “Another bird?”

I scoff and move to the side revealing what I’d found, Mark’s laughs coming to a stop once his eyes land on it.

Lying on the ground somewhat shoved to the side sits a pile of chopped animal parts, most predominantly legs. The ends jagged and practically torn apart as if they’d been ripped straight from the animals, most probably cow’s, torso.

“Oh… Not a bird,” he breathes as he crouches down before it. As he does, I feel the jolt of another memory coming on and rub at my forehead to ease the slight headache.

“If I’m correct in remembering,” I begin, getting Mark’s attention. “I don’t wanna turn around right now…” I finish with a sigh.

Mark looks past me, his eyes widening after squinting slightly.

“No, you probably don’t, but…” he stops.

“I’m going to have to…” I breathe and turn.

I’m met with the vaguely artistic web made up of the same animal limbs, all bloody, close to fresh, and strung up in somewhat of a circle, and a bunch of suspended, circular saw blades all either stained dry-crimson or rust.

“Gross…” I comment as we slowly step towards it.

“Yeah, something like that.”

The smell is dreadful, as can be imagined when describing severed limbs tied up and left to bake in the day’s heat. This does explain all the flies though. It being somewhat swampy explained the mosquitoes, but the flies didn’t have any obvious cause before now.

“So… I guess we’ve gotta crawl through the flesh monument…” Mark sighs as he approaches it further, his eyes raking in all the blood and gore spewed around us.

“I guess you’re right… Dibs not, though.”

“You’re a child.”

“You’re a little bitch!”

“Hey!”

I huff and push past him, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face as I pass. I flip him the bird from behind before I kneel against the dirt mixed with the half-baked blood that’s been dripping from the ‘flesh monument’, and crawl underneath with a grimace.

“Stupid fucking game… Stupid fucking blood! Oh my fucking god, that bits still wet!” I choke out before ripping my hand away from the squelching, bloody mud and wiping it against the dryer ground. I continue without any more mishaps and drag myself into a standing position once I’m completely through.

“Come on,” I call through the mess. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“Wasn’t so bad? You were complaining the whole time!”

“Just hurry up, ya’ big baby!”

With some muttering and a spluttering of ‘ew’s’ now and again, Mark eventually pulls himself through after me and stands with my help.

“I love what they’ve done with the place. A Christmas wreath made of cow legs is exactly what the place needed! And the decorative buzz-saws are a nice touch.”

I laugh and gesture for him to follow me further.

It takes another ten minutes at least of walking, coming across a small accumulation of dead birds included before we finally come to a five-foot drop, the back of a house, and the remains of a still smouldering, smoking fire.

“Come on,” Mark says before jumping down and landing against the packed dirt with a thump.

I’m about to follow him down before he turns back and offers me a hand. I don’t think I need the help, but the gesture is lovely all the same and is giving me a nice feeling towards the man I’ll be spending a lot of horror-filled time with.

“Thanks,” I say after he’s helped me to the ground. He simply smiles and shrugs before moving towards the embers, a brightly coloured, almost orange-red bag standing out against the dull surroundings.

“What’s this?” I wonder aloud as I pick it up and reach inside, the hardcover of a wallet grazing my fingertips and having me to pull it out. “A wallet?”

Mark comes over and looks over my shoulder as I open it to reveal a Texas Driver’s License.

“Texas, huh? Well, we ain’t in Kansas no more, Toto,” I speak with an accent for flair. Mark laughs and looks over the Driver’s photo.

“Mia…” he whispers as if he’s remembering something.

I look back to the picture a little harder, the face just barely recognisable as the woman, Ethan’s Wife, Ethan being the game’s main protagonist, named Mia Mark had just mentioned.

“She looks so much… So much more, real, don't you think?” I ask.

“Maybe everyone in this place will. You never know.”

From the bag, I pull another few papers, these filled away within a manilla folder instead of just left outright. With the folder, there is a picture of Mia, almost identical to that on her license, posing with a man whose face is mostly obscured. There’s also some writing. It’s a printed email.

“From Mia Winters. Sent July eighteen, twenty seventeen at eleven o’ four on a Tuesday,” I recite aloud. “To… Wait… That isn’t right… It can’t be.”

“What can’t be?”

“To, Mark Fischbach… Dulvey, Louisiana. Baker farm. Come get me… Why would it have your name, Mark? Did they swap this around? Is there no Ethan Winters in this version?”

“Well, I mean, if there was, we wouldn’t have a logical reason for being here, right? I mean, they’d have to swap a few things around to fit us into the story if this guy's going for realism, wouldn’t he?”

“He picked the wrong game if he’s looking for realism, that much I remember…” I take the folder and the licence and shove them into my backpack. “Alright, looks like we’re here for your Misses, turn’s out,” I chuckle breathlessly.

“I suppose so,” he returns. “Well that licence was covered in some kinda strange, black substance, and in my gaming experience, when something’s covered in a strange, black substance, that’s the best thing that could happen,” he says sarcastically causing me to laugh.

Mark and I continue walking, round the corner of the house, and pass a wooden swing before stepping onto the porch. I look to all of the windows and doors, each of them boarded up, except for, of course, one.

“Well isn’t that eerily convenient,” I mutter as we close in on it.

The room we enter is completely pitch-black except for the sun shining on a pair of dismantled door leaning up against the opposing wall. I take my bag back down, fish out my flashlight, wait for mark to do the same, and then sling it back onto my shoulder and switch it on, looking around with the new addition of light.

There’s a tool wall, a storage shelf, and a couple of other doors to be found within the small room.

I move to one of the doors with Mark hot on my heels and hesitantly push it open, the door squealing against its old hinges before revealing a broken-down and deserted hallway, the plaster on the right wall having at one point given in revealing the structural boarding behind it.

“Homey,” I snort.

“I’d rate it four stars… Show me a kitchen and I might go higher," he jokes. I laugh.

We move in further again before I can see through the already opened door.

“Oh god,” I cough upon the sight. “Be careful what you wish for, Muscles.”

“Please… stop calling me that. I feel like a douche-bag who spends ninety percent of his life at the gym,” Mark pleads upon joining me in the kitchen.

“What would you prefer I called you then?” I hum as I look around the room, exploring what’s left behind of the imploded mess.

“Mark would suit,” he chuckles.

“As you wish, Markimoo,” I tease. “Don’t even comment. Its Muscles or Markimoo. Take your pick!”

“Markimoo doesn’t make me sound like a gym douche,” he mutters.

He turns his attention to the pot on the dining table, his fingers taking a hold of the lid’s handle, he opens it letting a rancid smell engulf the kitchen. I gag, but then notice a few cockroaches spill from the pot, one climbing up Mark’s hand.

He lets out a not-so-manly shriek and bats his hand around quickly, the pot lid clattering back down to cover whatever is in said pot as he does. I can’t help but laugh at him, his face of terror matching how mine most likely looked when I’d been jump-scared by that bird before.

“Not funny!” he defends as he brushes his ‘infected’ hand with his other, the roach long-gone by now.

“It’s okay, Mark. I promise to protect you from the roaches if you’ll return the favour for the birds,” I laugh.

“Yeah, whatever. You screamed louder…”

“Yeah, I screamed like a girl, something you’re quite good at if you asked me.”

“Good thing I’m not then,” he laughs before moving to open one of the dresser drawers. He holds a photo out and mutters about a ‘creepy little girl’ before putting it back and moving onto another which seems to be locked.

I, instead, move to the microwave and open that. I’m immediately met with the mutilated corpse of a raven and let out a disgruntled scoff. “Dinners on,” I whisper. Mark walks next to me and opens the fridge door, a string of, I don’t even know what, connecting the door and box before it snaps with a wet rip and mark slams it shut again.

“This place was one of my least favourites. Mostly because I wasn’t desensitised to all the gross crap so early on,” Mark admits.

“I feel ya’,” I reply.

The two of us silently decide that we’ve seen enough of the disgusting kitchen for now, and instead move off into the hall which reveals a very dark hallway, some scattered furniture, a clusterfuck of mess and clutter, and an ominous set of stairs.

“I’m not fucking going up the death stairs. Nope, not happening!” I state firmly, my arms crossing over my black, spaghetti-strap top, the strings from the cloth choker I’d been wearing before being abducted from home hanging loosely by my fingers causing me to unconsciously fiddle with them.

“Come on, let’s go up!” Mark chimes before moving to the stairs, a skip in his step.

“You’re doing this to annoy me now, aren’t you?” I demand deadpan.

“Oh, most definitely,” he says as he turns and winks playfully, a laugh bubbling in my throat I’m too stubborn to let slide.

“Dick,” I mutter as he moves up the stairs. I make no effort to follow him as I’d much prefer looking through the downstairs portion of the house, alone or not, rather than follow him up there.

“You’re good at playing into the ‘first person to get murdered’ character, you know?” Mark’s voice distracts me from moving past the staircase railing.

“What?”

“Cause nothing bad ever happens when the group split up in the creepy house. Come on, I’m sure there’s nothing up here, okay? Trust, remember? We can’t split up. Not now.”

I sigh and roll my eyes before glaring at him, but he stands firm, and so I huff and round the railing before taking the first few steps up behind him. I smile sarcastically earning myself a light chuckle and the shake of his head.

We wander around the upper level for a little taking in all of the broken down and rotting walls, floor, and peeling ceiling, unattractive furniture set around against the walls. The upstairs, as Mark predicted, is uneventful, until he uncovers a VHS tape from one of the drawers.

“Derelict House Footage…” he commentates. “Is this from that show? You know, by the guys with the van?”

“I mean, the titles line up, right? Come on, let's check out the downstairs now.”

We cautiously move back down the stairs and along the hallway until we’ve reached a lamp, it’s shade slightly askew standing beside a mirror, and illuminating a circular portrait of an older woman in an old-fashioned, black dress.

“Not creepy at all,” I comment.

Just past the drawers holding said lamp, there are two closed doors. Mark and I both unanimously opt for the first on the right, his hand grips the doorknob apprehensively, his eyes finding mine, before sighing and pushing the door open with an ominous creak.

“… This whole room is entirely disconcerting,” he comments as he walks in, me a few steps behind.

The room is a sitting room of sorts, one that’s probably gone unused for quite a while given the state of it, though it looks more lived-in than the rest of the house rather than just peeling paint and flaking furniture, there’s a leather couch, a few storage cases, a table, and an old television, a VHS player conveniently placed atop it. Oh, and a ton of mess, of course.

Mark collects a photo off the floor, looks it over, and then places it back down again turning instead to the photo on the coffee table. While he’s doing so, I move to a fuse box after seeing the door panel hanging wide open. One of the four fuses is missing… No doubt we’ll be needing to find it.

“Oh good, a jail cell,” Mark mutters from the armchair where he’s holding yet another photo.

I turn to the fireplace before I’m washed with another wave of memories. I stare to the family of four photographed sitting on the leather sofa before squatting down and searching out the lever from my memory.

“What’cha doing down there?” Mark’s voice startles me slightly.

“Opening a secret passage,” I reply nonchalantly.

“Of course you are.”

I pull on the handle, another ominous creak resonating from behind me as the secret door reveals itself and swings open inwardly. I stand back up and dust off my jeans before making my way towards it.

“Hey, maybe we should take a look at this first, right?” Mark says as he examines the tape we found upstairs. “Could have something important on it.”

I look to the tape and then to the television before nodding and moving towards the set. I wait for mark to place the tape into the player, the screen comes to life abandoning it’s previous static and white noise.

“June first, twenty seventeen,” I read aloud. “Clancy Javis. Abandoned House. Dulvey Haunted House – Rehearsal. Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?”

“Probably because we aren’t,” he replies before the clip begins.


	4. 3 - The Cameraman, Producer, and Idiot

"Boo!" a males voice sounds as the camera angles turned down to land upon his face, his attention immediately jumping from the camera to the man standing behind him. "Where did you find this guy?" He gestures towards the camera, or more specifically, the man behind said camera.

"Give me a break, Pete." the other man responds. 

"Hey! I only work with professionals." the man, Pete, remarks immediately after. "Speaking of which, make sure the sound is right this time. I don't wanna repeat of Amarillo."

"That was two fucking years ago," the second man, yet to be named, exclaims as Pete begins walking off towards the house sitting in the near distance.

It's dark out, and the camera's mode has obviously been set to Night Vision, the mode itself having the men's eyes glare a brilliant green-white. It's raining, the ground is shining against the light coming from the looming house.

"I don't do ADR." Pete calls back.

The man who Pete's left behind gestures for the cameraman to follow him, and the two set off after him towards the dim lights.

"This new guy? I'm not feeling it," Pete states, his complete lack of respect evident as he makes no effort to keep said remark between him and the one he's speaking to.

"Again?" his partner replies partially exasperated.

"Just don't be surprised if we have to make a change."

The trio step from the rain up and under the roof of the awaiting porch. Pete, in his sloppy-fitted, black, rental suit, steps up first.

"New plan," he then says, the illumination of his flashlight lighting the decrepit walls of the run-down house. "We do a walk through of the inside first, then we shoot the intro."

"Just like we always do," the other says, his hands somewhat raised in silent question. "Just try to say the show's name this time, okay?"

"No problem," Pete answers. He then lifts his flashlight to illuminate his face like a child might when attempting to seem scary. "'Tonight on Sewer Gators, another worthless fucking shithole.' Happy?"

"... Ecstatic."

The three continue from the porch and approach the front door, not without taking notice of the boarded up windows, broken, wood panels, and littered debris on their way. Sitting just above the entrance, said door shut closed, there's a single light shining against it and drawing in some of the night's insects.

"Are we rolling?" Pete asks, though not to the camera man himself. "Alright, lets go."

Pete reaches to open the door, but can't seem to manage opening it. He struggles with it for a moment before his unnamed counterpart pulls him out of the way.

"Get outta the way," he pushes.

He, too, tries opening the door, but to no avail.

"It's locked," Pete states matter-of-fact, huffing lightly when the other changes tactics and instead kicks the door in, the lock breaking free with a single shot.

Pete doesn't wait for the others and walks straight past the second male without to much as acknowledging what he'd done for him. Said man looks to the person behind the camera and raises his arms in question before looking back to Pete, shaking his head.

"After you," he states fed-up.

The dynamic between the three seems as if they either barely know each other, or are completely fed up with the other's ways. To think they'd be working together to produce a television show seems unlikely, though they're not yet running tape for the episode itself, and people tend to change with the snap of fingers when they're stood in front of an audience.

All three of the Sewer Gators enter the property, the sound of crickets echoing as ambience outside, the faint memory of the moths congregating around the porch light still present. 

"So, why are we in hell this time?" Pete starts up again.

"Do you ever prep?" The taller of the on-camera duo retaliates.

"What's to prep? Shitty house. Spooky sounds. Ooh, is it haunted?" Pete continues to blabber as they move further and further into the house. "Fuck me. I was an anchor, you know."

"Weekend sub, Pete. Not anchor."

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

The camera pans to a painting of a woman dressed in black, the frame oval, and the image seeming almost fitting for the spooky feeling wafting through the house and property, even the road they'd driven to get there. By this stage they've reached the cabinet at the end of the hall just before the kitchen.

"What's the story, Andre?" Pete asks finally shining light on the second members identity giving a name to a face.

"Abandoned farm house. Missing family. Foul play suspected." Andre sighs as they turn towards the kitchen. "The usual."

"How long did you say this place has been abandoned?"

"Three years."

The men begin to cough and gag on the foul aroma flooding the kitchen after Pete pulls the lid from a familiar pot filled with even more familiar horrors. The smell alone is almost enough to make them want to turn tail and find someplace else to document. Almost.

"Clancy," Pete calls from the island table. "get a shot of this. This'd make a great cutaway." Clancy, the now-named cameraman, does as asked and moves to open the lid himself. "So, uh, Hillbilly Joe and his family go missing-"

"Not hillbillies. The Bakers. Jack and Marguerite Baker," Andre suddenly interrupts as Clancy gets his shot of the disgusting pot's contents. "And they were quiet, not backward. Lot of bad rumours about their son, Lucas. Bad seed, apparently."

Andre makes his way towards the next hall, Clancy following him with the frame. It's when Pete steps in something lying on the floor that Clancy pans the camera away from the better-of-the-two towards what's just been stepped in.

"Ah, shit!" Pete exclaims. "I know I shouldn't have worn my good shoes."

They both move on from the mess just for Pete to stop again a few steps onward and whine, his torch on a framed, old, black-and-white photo on the wall, the plaster chipped away around it revealing the house's skeleton.

"Oh, shit. Glad I had my shots... Although, this'd make a good backdrop," he speaks before lining himself up in front of the torn up wall, Clancy moving to position himself as needed. "Andre, what do you think?"

There's no reply.

"Andre?"

The camera pans around the kitchen once again as Pete calls for Andre some more, but the taller man is no longer with them, nor answering his co-host's calls.

"Clancy, you see where Andre went?"

The two move towards the hall and step through, a case of stairs coming into view as well as the rest of the hall cloaked in ink and stillness.

"Where is he? Un-fucking-believable. This is the last time I work with that guy. I mean producers, the come and go, but a good cameraman like you, Clancy? You stick with me."

The fear coming from Pete is made even more evident when his entire demeanour towards their cameraman changes the instant he thinks something may be happening. A terrible, terrible excuse for a man to say the very least, though, is being a person such as him reason enough to die?

The two head down the hall and past a busted lamp on a chest of drawers before coming to a closed, light-coloured door. The sound of something either being dropped, or perhaps kicked, resonates from somewhere behind it causing Pete to freak out more than he already is.

"What the fuck was that? Did you hear that?" he exclaims in fear before opening the door and creeping inside, Clancy in tow. "Andre? Where the fuck is he?"

The room they wander into is just as torn as the rest of the property. A lounge or sorts. There's an old piano, an even older television, and a few places to sit that you wouldn't want to touch now. Pete leads them around the entire room before coming to crouch before the fireplace, a 'what the hell?' falling from his mouth before he tugs down on the lever hidden within. After he does

so, a hidden door swings open from the wall to their right.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," Pete says as he eyes the door. "Alright, new deal. W-we find Andre and we go. I mean, fuck this show."

The two climb through and are met with the top of a ladder, and a deep hole into whatever's hidden beneath the house.

"You first..." Pete suggests. "Need a nice hero shot of me coming down the ladder. So, uh, you first."

Clancy descends the ladder in no time, the blackness running to reveal a room even worse than those they've already progressed through. The walls are coated in damp, slime-like, patches of condensation and leakage, and there are stacks of red-brick holding the ceiling up. To the left and behind one of the stacks stands Andre, his back to the camera and Clancy, not moving an inch.

"What do you see? What is it?" Pete hollers from above.

Clancy pays him no mind and makes his way hesitantly to where Andre motionlessly stands facing the pipes against the far wall. He reaches out a hand and places it against Andre's shoulder, but instead of the reaction he was hoping from his friend, the man, instead, topples backwards after his face, where it had been impaled on the rusted and busted pipe, slides off of said pipe. Blood oozes from his mouth and eyes, and his entire expression is emotionless and dead.

Clancy screams and tumbles backwards, the camera falls to the ground, and the image of poor Andre is all that remains of their final episode, never to be aired, that, and the footsteps of an approaching figure. Screams are heard before the camera finally cuts.


	5. 4 - Sticks, Stones, and Corpses

After the tape has run out of film, I continue to stare wordlessly at the screen in both shock and horror. Those people, we're they real? I mean, this is some sort of reenactment of the game, right? Maybe even a conscious simulation of sorts, if the former though, were those people actors?

"They looked too real. It looked too real..." I breathe in disbelief, my eyes still glues to the screen.

"It can't have been though, right? I mean, that was exactly what went down in the game, I can remember that much. It would have been too much of a coincidence, right? It can't have been real." Mark tries in hopes of calming me and most probably himself as well.

"Yeah... They couldn't have gone word-for-word otherwise after all. They've gotta be acting..." I try on top of his argument.

Mark simply hums in agreement and deep thought. I stay within my head for a moment more as well before I suggest something I hope is much to far-fetched to be true.

"But... Towards the beginning, it looked so much more staged than the end, did you see? Could it even be remotely possible that they were only given the first half of the script? I don't wanna sound like I'm capable of something like this, but... if it were me, I'd wanna make it as real as possible. Give them the first half of the script and ask them to wing it after a certain point. That's where you start killing them off..."

A shiver races the length of my spine and I rip my hands towards the flesh of my arms, my skin raising with goose-bumps at just the mere thought.

"That'd mean..." Mark trails off.

"That we just watched those men die..." I conclude for him. "I mean, I could be overthinking it. I did film study, I could just be too in my head about it, I don't know."

"It's possible though, right? I know what you were saying about it seeming much more like acting toward the beginning."

This time it's me humming in acknowledgement.

"Look... I think... I think we just need to keep going. We've gotta forget about them for now. Whether or not that was staged or otherwise isn't going to effect how we play this game... it just means we'll probably experience some hell through nightmares once we make it out of here," Mark says having me nod in understanding.

"Okay... Yeah, okay. Let's keep going."

The somewhat lighthearted atmosphere we'd been trying to create before hand has pretty much diminished completely now, a heavy-set fog of fear and thought settling atop us as we push ourselves away from the TV. Mark takes the tape and stores it away before we do.

Mark and I both walk slowly towards the trap door within the wall I opened up for us a few moments prior. The memory of the other men passing through the same door still fresh in our minds. I stand stuck for a bit just staring towards the door. I jolt suddenly when Mark's hand falls against my shoulder.

"Hey," he says as he coaxes me to turn and face him. "We're in this together, remember? You said it yourself. We're gamers with killer-horror-gamer instincts, and we can do this... do you want me to go through first?"

I smile towards him with soft appreciation before shaking my head no.

"It's okay, I'm okay... You're right, and I'll be fine. We'll be fine."

I move from Mark's grasp and kneel against the littered floor before crawling my way through the hatch.

The room I crawl into is still, dusty, and looks as though it's been untouched, much like the rest of the house, for a long, long time. I stand and brush off the front of my jeans before aiming my torch toward the hatch for Mark to pull himself through hot on my heels. Once he's though, the to of us move towards the ladder, cockroaches skittering away from the light.

"I'll go first, and then you come down straight after, okay?" I ask. He simply nods with a smile and shines his light against the ladder that descends into complete dusk and silence.

I take in a deep breath before lowering myself from the top to the bottom without allowing myself the time to hesitate, and then once I'm at the bottom I let out a sigh of relief within a breath I wasn't aware I was holding.

"You good?" I hear from behind the torchlight above me.

"Yeah, come on down, Markimoo. There's nothing down here... yet."

I watch the light maneuver around whilst listening to Mark muttering to himself.

"Ugh, I don't wanna go down there... Whelp, I guess I'm committed... here we go!"

I can't help but laugh at his words before I hear a horrible cracking noise.

"Oh, fuck..." he sighs as I'm stuck still staring whilst he and the broken rungs of the ladder come tumbling down.

I'm almost not fast enough to move and break his fall a little, my body acting as an impact mat, the hard, gravely, packed-dirt floor would have been less than kind to him otherwise. I quickly maneuver my hands and arms up under his own as he tumbles backwards; the force of the fall knocking us both on our asses. I groan as I push him off of me and stand myself up rubbing my sore back as I do.

"You should have gotten out of the way quicker, short stuff," mark laughs from where he's sat on the ground.

"Hey! I didn't have to cushion your ass! Be grateful!" I laugh back.

Mark and I move around the small area below the now broken ladder, the words 'no going back now' echoing through my mind as I turn to the white-light bulb dangling from a single cord that barely lights up the horribly damp and decaying basement-like area we're in now.

"Great... just perfect," I mutter as we round the corner and come face-to-face with the sewage-like water overflowing the declining tunnel we've no choice but to head deeper into. "You think we'll be able to keep our heads above the water? I don't know what sorta' hell we might catch from that otherwise."

"I mean, I'll be fine, but with you and your, you know..."

"Call me short one more time, Mark, and I'll show you what it feels like to be punched out by a girl!"

Mark simply chuckles before hesitantly wading into the disgusting water, a visible shudder running the length of his body upon contact.

"Come on in... the water's fine."

I shake my head and follow after him.

"Please no water monster..." I breathe to myself as we round another bend and find some lower-hanging beams that we'll have to crouch under to get past.

"You mean, like Amnesia?"

"Dude, if they hit me with the Amnesia water monsters, I'm going to personally rearrange this guys spinal vertebrate..."

We near the lower beams and Mark moves under first. I can practically feel the water sloshing up past his chin as he desperately attempts to keep his mouth from the ill liquid. I follow shortly after and in no time we've passed it and are rounding what I hope to be the final bend within the sewage tunnel. Bubbles erupt from in front of Mark and his breath hitches before he starts muttering about something I can't quite catch.

There's one last cement false ceiling that we'll need to climb under before I can see where the area flattens and dries out. We'll be good after this.

Mark, once again as he's in front, goes through first, and once he's through keeps moving as to reach the higher and more stable ground. I watch as he reaches the end and turns back to face me, a smile of success plastered upon his face.

"Come on, last little bit!"

I shake my head and move through as well, my shoe coming into contact with something on the bottom and causing it to shift slightly. My eyes widen and a shrill scream erupts from my throat as a maggot-infested, putrid, decaying face emerges from the glossy, murky water, the eyes and flesh mostly eaten from his skull. The fright causes me to stumble backwards and fall under the water, the force of my body shifting the water causes the corpse to float with me and I can feel the slippery, falling-off flesh sliding against my exposed arms. In more panic, I try to push it away as my lungs burn.

I'm suddenly drug from the water, a huge intake of 'fresh' air reaching my aching throat as I feel Mark try and steady me.

"Hey! Whoa! Are you okay? Hey, look at me, you good?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm... fuck! That scared the shit outta me! It touched me, oh my god... That was one of them, Mark! That was one of the guys from the tape! One of the Sewer Gators or whatever! It was him!" I break out into a quick coughing fit as some of the putrid water slides from my top lip into my mouth before I spit it and try wiping it away.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! That was real... that wasn't a fake body, Mark, that was fucking real!"

"Hey! Calm down, okay? Panicking isn't going to get us anywhere, here."

Mark drags me out of the water so I'm stood on solid ground, my breathing still laboured as I let the image of that mans face linger behind my eyes.

"Do you know which one it was?" Mark asks after I've finally calmed my breathing.

"Yeah, uh, the one that Clancy found stuck up against the pipe, I... I can't remember his name."

Mark simply nods and takes my elbow in his hand moving the both of us further down the hall. I stare behind us towards the place where the body is still floating, the hair and scalp all that's left visible. I shudder and turn away taking my arm back and placing both palms against the table set before us.

"Okay, okay... shit, look at this," I say as I notice the papers tacked to the wooden boards. A few different faces and an amalgam of information and observations scrawled alongside them. "Do you think these people were, you know...?"

"The ones before us?" Mark asks to which I nod in reply. "I don't know, maybe. It's possible after all. The papers don't say much, just info on them, nothing that'd suggest they were thrown into this like we have been." I nod again and once I've finally reclaimed my nerve and the shaking in my hands has stopped, I wring the water from my hair and top, and then Mark and I proceed to the rooms door, the florescent tube lights practically beckoning us onward.

Through the door we're met with a larger stone room, the walls still as damp and cold as the ones in the previous hall. This room though is filled with cages that resemble cells and I instantly wonder what or who they might have once stored within them.

"Homier than some places, I s'pose," I mutter as Mark and I patter through. His attention seems to be caught by the red scrawling on some of the boards lent against the walls. What look to be children's drawings are etched into a wooden wall in what I hope is red crayon, though I have my doubts. My eyes linger on the old and rusted bunk-bed frame instead.

A loud bang resonates from the way we've just come that has both Mark and I jumping and spinning around to find what caused the noise, but there's nothing to be found.

"Did you close the door after we came through?" Mark asks.

"You were the last one through!" I whisper back at him.

"Oh, right," he chuckles. "I mustn't have closed it then. It was just the door. A draft must have pulled it closed again," he rationalizes.

I look from the bed and back to the drawings Mark's been watching.

"Okay, so we seem to have a happy family here. Is there some... oh, look," Mark says. I lean closer to watch as he speaks. "There's another kid that seems to be away from the rest of the family, and their face is covered in red... that's, uh, not good..."

"You can say that again... So we're working with a family here then, right? I mean, mum, dad, boy and girl, and then the last one... do you think this has anything to do with the game? Like, anything that'll tell us what we're dealing with here?"

"I don't know... _I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I'm sorry, daddy, I will not be bad anymore, I'm sorry, daddy, I will not be bad anymore_... Okay, this is just getting creepier."

"Hey," I pull his attention away from the drawings once I've come to the next corner. There's a light on in this cage... Do you think it's Mia?"

Mark follows my lead and we both enter the next room, the light pouring from the cell has to mean something, so she must be here, right? Mark goes towards the tables, one of them holding a pair of bolt cutters and a few other bits and pieces, and I move closer to the cell door. I hear mark muttering from the desks.

"Ben, dead, Harold, turned, Arthur, turned, Tamara, turned... Clancy, L... Mia doesn't say anything about turned or dead, so that's something useful at least..."

"She's in here," I inform as he looks away from the numerous papers tacked to the tool wall. He makes his way over and stands at the cage's entrance alongside me.

"Mia?" I question the girl aloud trying to get her attention, though she doesn't stir. I make a move and push through to the bolt cutters. I pick them up and then detach the chain holding her cell closed listening as it fall to the ground with a sickening clank and thunk.

I hand Mark the cutters, which he decided to save in his pack, and move into the cell to Mia's side. I take her shoulder in my hand and shake her gently.

"Mia? Hey, can you hear me?"

"Y/N? What are you... how'd you get in here..." she slurs groggily.

Mark then enters the room and her eyes light up. She jumps from the bed and takes a hold of his arms. "Mark!" she exclaims. "You shouldn't be here!"

I watch the exchange from my place as Mark attempts to calm, the girl.

"Ugh, god, umm..." he stutters.

"Just, go with the game, Mark. You're her boyfriend, remember?" he simply gapes and then nods his head before returning his attention to Mia.

"You, uh, you asked us to come. You sent a video through an email," he tries to jog her memory.

"No, no. I wouldn't. Did I...? Did anyone see you? Did he see you?"

"You mean Mountain Man? Not as far as we know. How do we get out of here, Mia?"

"Daddy's coming. We need to go."

Mia grabs at Mark's hand, his eyes widening with the sudden contact as he looks to me for some sort of assistance. I simply shrug and exit the cage, Mia and Mark in tow.

"Mia?" I question once we're all out of the cell and moving towards the dim hall attached to the room. "Where are you taking us?"

"Someplace safe," she answer vaguely before continuing down the dark hall. "Come on, I think it's this way..."

We come into a room that smells of rancid decay and flesh, blood, and bone. I can feel my stomach twisting with the scent and have to force myself not to throw everything up.

"That message you sent us, Mia..." I begin once she's stood still. She reacts in a panic however.

"Not me. That wasn't me!"

"But, I mean, It kinda was, right?" Mark backs me up.

"I didn't!" she declares. I defuse the situation instead, allowing her to believe what she wishes as I have no idea how any of this works, nor how she can, will, or is supposed to act and respond. Is she even a real person? A mechanical android? Holographic? An actor? _No, holograms can't touch things, stupid_!

"Okay, fine. Just tell us what's going on."

"We have to go this way," she trails before walking off without answering my question.

I sigh in frustration and follow after her again, her rambling about the family bringing her food through here, though I decide to try and ignore the fact that there's a whole family we need to be on the watch for in hopes of survival.

"There," Mia finally exclaims. "It's there! This is it."

She pushes the door open and talks about remembering this room and another door that's supposed to be here as well. I look around, but I can't see anything that resembles a door besides the one we've just come through, and another that leads to a room that's clearly a dead-end.

"It's not here! It's gone!" she suddenly yells, her voice course with emotion and fear. "We're gonna be a family... now that you're here."

I swallow and watch as she moves from the wall she's fussing over and sits on the looming, filthy couch. I can't help but feel a little strange around her. I mean, of course I would, and Mark probably does as well. Is she even a real person?

"What now then?" Mark's voice breaks my thoughts. "Are you remembering anything?"

I shake my head no as I glance around the room hoping something within it might trigger something, but nothing is bringing anything back. There's nothing much within the dingy room itself, just a few pieces of aged, dirty furniture such as the couch and a dim lamp with a filthy shade, and something similar to a surgical tray on wheels.

"Look at this," I call Mark over as I pick up a picture from the surgical trolley. "This looks familiar, I just can't pick why."

"Yeah, I get what you mean."

The image is one of an older woman, her hair white and body frail. She's sat in a wheelchair, her head lolled to the side as if she hasn't enough energy to lift it, a blanket draped across her lap. On the picture's back there's the message, _'E-001'_.

"Come on, there's another room over here. Might be something interesting in it we'll need," Mark suggests as he leaves my side and walks into the joined storage space. If the other room was acting as some underground sitting room, then this would most definitely be for storage. Perhaps this whole place was once some sort of safe house, like a bunker for storms and such.

There's nothing of much value within the room. In fact, there's nothing more than a row of shelves lining the wall, a few empty jars, some old lengths of timber, and a couple of creepy dolls sitting atop said shelves.

A sudden scream rushes through the room causing me to drop the porcelain doll in my hands, the once-pretty thing shattering when it hits the stone-covered, wet floor. Mia. I throw my sight to Mark, his eyes colliding with mine before we both dart from the bunker's storage closet and back out into the dilapidated sitting room.

"She's not here," Mark calls with concern after I've come back from looking around the corner we entered from.

"Not back there either... hey, was that there before?"

Mark turns to where I'm pointing, my sights set on the large hole in the wall that almost blends into the surroundings seamlessly. The only thing that drew my eye to it was the dust beginning to settle around the wood on the floor once again.

"Come on, I guess we're going through here, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you still reading this, I thank you for your patience <3


	6. 5 - Mark's New Crazy Girlfriend

We wonder from the room and into the next, a light coming into view illuminating the cement floor. This room, just as every other down here, is dripping with moisture on the walls, and smells of must and decay, though different from the rest, this one houses a case of weak-looking, wooden stairs.

"Where do you think these go?" I whisper to Mark, his eyes glued to the stairs as well. "I swear to god, not being able to remember what happens now sucks! I know something is supposed to, I can feel it... I just..."

"Yeah, I get it. I'm uneasy as well. We aren't going to progress down here though. We've gotta get this over with," he replies calmly. I nod in reply and he steps forward to take the stairs first, which I find myself appreciating.

The stairs creak and strain under our weight, but to my surprise, they don't cave, despite the obvious lack of maintenance from their owners. Dust clings to them, but I can see a few sets of prints regardless of Mark's and mine that suggest this is exactly where we need to be going. I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse.

We're halfway up when the door at the top creaks open with a loud squeak, the hinges squealing for oil. I freeze as the sound ricochets from the high walls and Mark's body tenses before me. I peak around his form to witness as the door finally comes to a halt and the sound, too, stops.

"Maybe the wind?" I suggest half-hopeful that we aren't going to meet our deaths within our next few moments.

"Doubtful, but a guy can dream," comes Mark's reply.

I can hear the weather thrashing outside as we ascend further, and by the time we both emerge into the waiting, glum hall, I can see the harsh rain bashing against the glass pains of the window. The winds outside seem strong, as I suppose they'd have to be to propel the rain with such force.

"Are we still in the same house?" Mark whispers as he shines his light down the hall.

I turn my attention from the weather and towards Mark, his eyes glued and searching. He seems much more on edge right now than before. He must be getting the same vibes I'm feeling. Something's going to happen soon. But what?

I move to the phone as we progress further down the hall and take it from the dialer placing the handset to my ear. There's a dial tone which suggests the house is still connected to the landline, but there's nothing else. I place it back down with a defeated sigh.

"Hey, come over here. I found something," mark says from further down, hovering over an open drawer. "Take one, there's two... Probably for if we get split up I suppose."

I reach Mark and take the paper from his hands. On it there's a sketch of a floor plan, the house's map. So we're still in the guest house. That's where we started from, right? Except we would have come in through the back way rather than the front ending up by the kitchen instead. I pocket the map and move toward the labelled bathroom, the door standing wide open.

Walking in, the first thing I notice is how the mirror has been smashed from the medicine cabinet, and the second is the bottle of something or other sitting alone on the sink. I take the army-green bottle in my hand and look it over. There's a single label on the front that reads First Aid Med.

"How do you think this will work?" I ask the man looking around the room with me once he's entered as well. "I mean, med kits aren't uncommon in games, so I get what they're suppose to do, but you click a button, right? Are we supposed to pour this on wounds? Drink it?"

"I'm not sure," he answers as he opens one of the drawers by the sink revealing a second canister of medicine. "I just hope we aren't going to come across a situation where we'll need to figure it out."

"Doubtful, but a girl can dream," I quote him from the staircase. He chuckles before stashing the find and waiting for me to do so with mine. We both leave the room after.

We exit the bathroom to be met with a sudden bang at the door we entered the hall through. The door is closed now, though I wasn't the one to close it, and seeing as I was the last out, Mark wasn't either.

"Fuck... uh," Mark says as his eyes open and the knocking becomes more forceful and impatient.

Lightning crashes as we make our cautious approach after finding the only other doors to be locked. The knocking still persists until we've crept directly in front of it, and then just like it began so suddenly, the sound disappears. We're left in complete silence.

"We're going to have to follow that, aren't we?" Mark says.

"That would be the worst-case scenario, wouldn't it? Meaning, yeah, that's exactly what we're going to have to do..."

Mark opens the door slowly, the creaking and squeaking just as loud as it was before. I peak around him once he's fully opened it, the sounds of water dripping from the underground basement mingling with the wheezing of breath.

"Stay here," Mark suddenly adds onto the sounds. I nod before shaking my head and looking to him.

"Wait, what? No, no I don't think so, Mark," I reply quickly.

"I'll just be a second, and if I need to get out of there quickly, it'll be easier if there aren't two of us blocking up the stairs," he explains before making a move to descend.

"Hey," I call grabbing his shoulder, "no, look, that's crazy. I get it, we've gotta do it, but why don't I do it? I'm smaller, and I can get out of there faster. If you think about it, there's less likely to be an incident if I'm the one to go."

"Yeah, not gonna happen. Just wait here," he replies with a little force. I simply stare at him in disbelief before he removes my hold and keeps on his way down.

"Now is not the time for a hero complex, Mark!" I sass from the top.

"Now's exactly the time, actually, shush..."

I wait in frightened anticipation as I watch Mark disappear into the darkness, each second causing my withheld breath to strain my lungs more, until I'm shocked out of my state by a sudden female scream and a bang.

I'm thrown off my feet by the sudden impact of Mark's body on mine. Whatever was just down there had some god damned strength behind it, because not only did it just propel a full-grown man up a flight of stairs, it also fucking hurt. There was so much force behind the throw. I'm almost grateful I was able to at least break his fall a little like before, but at the same time, ouch, dude!

"It's Mia! Go!" Mark yells as I pull myself together. I shake my head though and help pull him from the floor, until suddenly I'm caught off guard by a hard hit to the chest and I'm thrown further down the hall with just the shear impact of her swing.

"Mark!" I yell as I regain my ability to see just to watch as he's lifted by his throat and thrown to the floor a couple meters in front of me.

I'm not quick enough to react before Mia is on top if him again and attempting to stab him with what's most likely a kitchen knife. I jump up once again and stumble slightly until I catch myself on the wall. My eyes widen as I watch Mark try to defend himself just to have Mia jam the knife directly into his hand, the blade sliding right through, a terrible, pained scream leaving the man before I finally will myself to act and run at them, kicking Mia from his body and shoving her to the floor, giving Mark some time to recuperate from what just happened.

"You okay?" I call back to him as I watch her. I don't have time to hear for a reply however before she's back up and now swinging the blade at me instead.

I throw my arms up to shield my face, just to receive a nasty gash along my shoulder. I cry out and then push my hand to her face, my other wrapped around her wrist keeping her at bay. I push her back just for her to come back stronger, the knife aimed directly for my throat. I instinctively clutch the blade with my bare hands, the rough, partially-chipped metal embedding itself in the soft flesh of my palms and fingers. I yell through the pain again as I hold her where she's stood, the blade continuing to inch closer to me whilst simultaneously digging into me deeper.

"Y/N!" I hear Mark yell as she manages to push the weapon back into my shoulder. At least I was able to divert it from my throat I suppose, but that doesn't stop it hurting like a mother fucker!

She pushes herself back this time, and I feel Mark's hand quickly wrap around my right arm, the uninjured one, and drag me away from her as far as he can. The movement has my head spinning a little, but I can still manage to notice the way Mia's form seems to change.

The grotesque, inhuman version of her melting into the woman we rescued from her cell not twenty minutes ago.

"I can hear her..." She mutters to herself as she clutches her temples. "I can feel her clawing her way back inside of me."

"What are we supposed to do?" I hear Mark ask, though I can't form a response before Mia is bashing her head against the wall violently.

"Get out!" She wails. Bang. "Leave me alone!" Bang... "I've been bad. I deserve this."

With one final and ferocious hit she falls to the ground unconscious.

"What the fucking, fucking, fuck?" Mark breathes as he looks down at the non-moving woman, his eyes glued to her, yet far away as if it isn't her he's seeing, and his injured hand clutched at his side, shaking understandably.

There's a noticeable pause in the atmosphere as we both wrap our heads around what just occurred until Mark suddenly snaps out of it and turns to me, panic written across his face. He doesn't say anything at first, not verbally anyway, his eyes ask it all. _Are you okay?_ I nod and then finally falsify enough courage to look down at my left shoulder.

It doesn't look great...

I can't move my arm... Not without pain anyway. She drove the knife straight through the front of the shoulder, just a few inches from my collar bone, and seemed to manage dragging it down to tear the skin horribly It looks a complete mess. Then there's the initial wound from the first time she swiped me, this slash running from the base of my neck, through the stab wound, and a few inches down my left bicep. Blood is flowing from both steadily, though not alarmingly.

"...Ow..." is all I manage, my eyes leaving my arm to find Mark's hand still clutched gently to his chest, and then his face.

"Ow?" he questions with an unbelieving smile soon followed up by a chuckle. "Ow..." he reiterates.

"Shut up! What do you want me to say? Oh, golly! Sure wish she hadn't fucking stabbed me! Damn! I'm weird with pain alright? And, and I think I'm in shock, maybe, and... your hand, oh, god, are you okay?"

The adrenaline is finally starting to leave my body, a burn like fire taking its place, one I try to suppress as best I can as now is most likely not the time to be worrying over an injury like this, or, well, the pain anyway, treating the injury? That's a different story. I'm sure, after witnessing and experiencing that, that this is unlikely to be the last time we'll receive such things.

"Yeah, I... No, not really. This fucking hurts!" he hisses out in pain as he takes his hand away from his chest to assess the damage properly.

There's almost too much blood to be able to define exactly where the wound begins and ends, though seeing as its from the back to the front, and judging by the width and length of my own, he's more than likely had a few bones and tendons severed.

I quickly remove the bag from my back and place it on the ground, being careful to watch for Mia, making sure she's still where we left her. Luckily for us, she is. I take out the medical solution we found earlier and cap the top.

"Alright, We're going to be figuring this stuff out a hell of a lot quicker than I thought we would be," I lighten the mood gently as I push my hand forward silently asking Mark to let me assess the wound further. "Here, let me try it out."

"So I'm just your medical guinea-pig, is that right?" Mark banters back as he gives me his hand.

"More or less, big guy... Okay, so I'll just try..."

I go by instinct and gently pour the solution onto his hand, and I can tell almost immediately that it's working as I hear a sigh of absolute relief leave Mark's form. What I see next shocks me even more than what we just experienced with Mia's psycho alter.

"What the fuck...?" I breathe as I witness the flesh of his hand and the inner workings begin to literally knit themselves back together. It's like watching ink spread through water, just the ink is new flesh and bone, and the water is a fucked up appendage. "That's... impossible, right? I mean, it's amazing! But it's impossible!"

Mark flexes his hand once the entirety of the bottle has run dry and there's nothing more than a scar in place of the once angry infliction. He shakes his head in bewilderment before taking his own pack and removing the other bottle of elixir.

"Alright, your turn..."

I nod and show him my arm before we're interrupted by the sudden sound of an intake of breath.

Not again... 


End file.
